


I can feel it in your grace, in every golden trace

by makesometime



Series: AroAceing the Line 2021 [4]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: (yes I'm making that a tag), Alternate Universe - Art Restoration, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, AroAceing the Line 2021, Aromantic Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming), Asexual Zolf Smith, Coming Out, Developing Relationship, Internalized Arophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29713317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: What he isn’t expecting is a handsome blond-haired lumberjack-looking dwarf, with sleeves rolled up and scars on his forearms and deep green eyes that sparkle like the sea on a clear day.He tries not to stare, but he knows he doesn’t manage it.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Series: AroAceing the Line 2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2178975
Comments: 16
Kudos: 59
Collections: AroAceing the Line





	I can feel it in your grace, in every golden trace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for AroAceing the Line, February 26th: **Family** \- Friends - Magic - Grey
> 
> Did I start an entire AU just to write aromantic Wilde? You bet your ass I did. I'm actually quite tenderly fond of this one, I like it a lot. I hope you all do too <3
> 
> Oscar is aromantic, somewhere probably in the grey part of the spectrum in my head, but not explicitly stated in this. He is allosexual, and also deals with some internalised arophobia, so please be aware if that'll make you uncomfortable. Zolf is of course grey ace, and it is also discussed.

Oscar’s not entirely sure what he’s expecting from the client he’s been conversing with via email for weeks, but he’s made a few assumptions.

An older man, but not by much - his language and typing are fluid and colloquial.

Serious bordering on severe, as even the barest hint of familiarity that Oscar might intersperse his correspondence with after establishing a client as being worth his time was summarily shut down.

And steadfastly committed to his family.

What he isn’t expecting is a handsome blond-haired lumberjack-looking dwarf, with sleeves rolled up and scars on his forearms and deep green eyes that sparkle like the sea on a clear day.

He tries not to stare, but he knows he doesn’t manage it.

He’s careful not to mention the fact that the tear through the canvas is suspiciously fist-shaped, despite Zolf’s best efforts to flatten the damaged area. The damage is right through the faces and he winces, thinking about the work that’s going to be involved in this.

“Can you do it?” Zolf asks, sounding painfully hopeful. “No one else has even bothered responding to my emails.”

“I can.” He says, biting back a quip about being the best in the business. It probably wouldn’t land very well. “It will take time. Effort. But I can do it, I can bring them back to you.”

Zolf’s breath catches and he looks down at his feet, one of his ankles slim and metallic under his cropped cargo pants. Oscar wonders if that’s related to the loss of his family, or just another tragedy in the life of Zolf Smith.

“Thank you Mr. Wilde.”

He turns his best smile on Zolf and watches the prickling of colour in the dwarf’s ears. “It’s my pleasure. Oh, and please, call me Oscar.”

#

He’s used to working in solitude, nothing but the accompaniment of classical music to pair with his careful brushstrokes and the scraping of scalpels on canvas. He prefers it that way, with no distractions and no one to see when he curses at the light for daring to be different from one second to the next.

But Zolf Smith is a particular customer. A nosy customer. Who clearly doesn’t respect his craft.

“What’s that for?”

Oscar stumbles, nearly upending the pot in his hand all over his table.

“It’s a filler, no different in essence to one you would use on a pockmarked wall.” He says, applying it carefully to the bare canvas left behind now that the tear is mended. “In this case it will leave a nice flat surface for the new paint.”

“You’re just spreading it about all willy-nilly?” Zolf squints.

Oscar sighs again. “You know, I am doing you a favour by letting you be here.” He says quietly, focussed on his work. “I’ll remove the excess later, once it’s dried. It won’t damage the painting, I assure you.”

Zolf seems at least partially mollified by the explanation. “Right. Makes sense.”

Oscar gets so into the act of filling that he almost doesn’t notice Zolf walking closer, until the dwarf’s body heat is noticeable enough. He’s got a good presence to him, Oscar can tell. One that he wants to lean into rather than away from. Someone he reckons he could spend time with in another situation and not struggle for things to talk about.

If only he’d stop looking at the painting like every touch Oscar lays on it is defiling his family’s memory.

“Zolf.” He says quietly, turning his head and smiling when Zolf jolts at the closeness. “Would you trust me, maybe even a little?”

“I do trust you, Wilde.” He says quietly, a little abashed. “Just… means a lot.”

“I understand.” Oscar says, quietly, truthfully. “I lost my sister when I was a young boy. My brother is god knows where and my parents are both dead. I only have a few photographs, nothing so lovely as a portrait.”

“I’m sorry.” Zolf says, and it doesn’t entirely sound like an empty platitude.

“Thank you. I’m sorry for you too. Please trust that I will treat this with the respect and love that it deserves.”

Zolf nods, shoving his hands in his pockets and wandering to perch on the stool that Oscar’s started to think of as Zolf’s, now. He’s silent for long enough that it becomes companionable once more, increasingly familiar. Oscar swipes the spatula over Zolf’s mother’s cheek and smiles, keeping his touch as light as possible.

“You busy after work?”

A smile startles across Oscar’s lips and he stands, stretching his back a little. “Are you asking me out?”

Zolf grins, rubbing at the back of his neck and doing a poor job of hiding his embarrassment. “Yeah. Guess I am at that.”

“Alright.” Oscar says, turning back to his work. “But only if you don’t interrupt me for the next half hour.”

“Deal.”

#

Oscar makes two promises to himself, after his second date with Zolf, when he’s sat up in bed and rubbing fingertips over the spot where Zolf had kissed his cheek as a farewell.

He won’t sleep with Zolf until after he’s finished restoring the painting.

And he won’t sleep with Zolf until he’s been entirely and unguardedly honest.

#

He sees Zolf at his work more often than he doesn’t now. Zolf sits with him and asks interested questions while intermittently taking work calls (his catering firm seems to be staffed with the most reliable employees Oscar has ever seen, if he can safely be away from them for so long) and it’s _nice_ , it is.

It also twists his gut up nicely to be so close to someone he’s so attracted to, which then makes him feel like a hypocrite, which leads him to quiet self-reflection and stilted answers to Zolf’s infrequent enquiries.

Thankfully, Zolf is stubborn. Possibly even more stubborn than him, which is saying something.

He moves his brush over the freshly varnished surface in careful, even strokes and then stops, setting it down and looking up at Zolf.

“I think I’m done.”

Oscar doesn’t comment on the way Zolf rubs at his eyes when looking at the finished painting, the width of his trembling smile enough to make it feel like a more than successful job.

“It’s perfect, Oscar. Better than it’s looked for decades.” Zolf says, voice low and husky. “Thank you.”

An unavoidably large part of him turns mournful at the fact that there’s no reason for Zolf to hang around his studio, now, with only allowing the painting to dry and the money to transfer left before their transaction is complete. But then Zolf takes his hand and leads him to fetch their coats once he’s put the painting to one side, and he forces himself to recognise that it’s not as if this has to end here.

Unless…

Oscar forces down a wistful sigh, walking hand-in-hand down the street to their favourite pub and going to settle in their corner booth when Zolf heads to the bar.

Honesty. Honesty. He can do it.

“What’s wrong?” Zolf says, setting a couple of pints down and hesitating, before sliding in beside Oscar and trapping him against the wall. A clever move.

“I need to be honest with you. Before this goes any further.” He says, and notices something curious in Zolf’s gaze that he can’t quite put a finger on.

“Alright. Go on.”

“I am not entirely sure which label I fit under, if labels are a thing that you require.” Zolf shakes his head, and Oscar finds the will to continue. “I have yet to experience romantic attraction to anyone in my storied past, and don’t know if that’s something that’s ever on the cards for me. But I find you _fascinating_ , Zolf. And I would love to get to know you better, if this is something that doesn’t spoil me for you.”

“ _Spoil_ you?” Zolf frowns, reaching out and squeezing his hand tight. “You daft thing. No. Not at all.” He pauses, then snorts, sipping his drink. “S’funny. I was gonna tell you something tonight too.”

“Oh?” Oscar says, his voice tight and trembly, not quite daring to hope this isn’t all going to pot.

“I’m not a fan of labels either. But I’ve seen how you look at me sometimes, like you want to, uh…” He trails off, flushing. “Well. You know. I just wanted to say that my interest in that fluctuates a lot. Sometimes I’m all for it. Other times it’s just not going to happen.”

“Alright.” Oscar smiles. “Alright Zolf. That’s fine with me.”

Zolf’s eyes are so lovely in this light. “Yeah?”

Oscar nods quickly, not quite trusting his voice against the knot of emotion in his throat. “Thank you. For trusting me with that. And for trusting me with your family.”

Zolf smiles, threading their fingers. “Can I kiss you?”

Oscar nods again, already leaning in. “Yes, please.”

And he does.


End file.
